After skinning Bush Lotus alive — which, having never previously skinned anything, let alone a human being, I found was surprisingly easy to do — in which I was simply following their orders on Hazy to “turn me inside out, try me on for size and let me know how you like it” — I wore the skin, and, to my delight, it fit quite well. It required a bit of stitching here and stretching there, but overall, it was very comfortable. You know the feeling you get when you walk around in new shoes? It was much like that, but with skin. New skin — well, new to me. I stood in front of the mirror. I posed demurely. I was well hidden behind Bush Lotus‘s (and now my) cheeky grin. I looked amazing. Ravishing. Stunning. And when I put on clothes, one would have been hard-pressed to say that I was not the real Bush Lotus.
Don’t think of me as some kind of horrible monster intent on boiling babies into beef stew or anything — I’m not that irredeemable. I didn’t discard of Bush Lotus — she remained (and remains) alive. I simply — what’s the correct word? — borrowed her skin. In all likelihood, it will grow back — a bit of medicinal herbs sprinkled hither and thither, and badda-bing badda-boom, presto-chango, Bob’s your uncle: new skin.
Oh we laughed together, her and I — at least I think she was laughing — and we danced around the room to Dans La Jungle. Me, looking like her, and her, looking a bloody mess; oh but how beautiful we both were! How lucky I am to have such a pretty smile — when the moonlight reflects it, my heart rejoices, and I feel as free as the air. Up, up, up we danced into the sky, like two candles, two majestic stars, twinkling in the night.
It was a remarkable experience, and it gave me an idea. Instead of wearing the skin — for, to be honest, I was getting rather hot, despite the autumn weather — I’d fashion it into a kite. When I asked Bush Lotus if that would be alright, she made a sound that I took to mean “That’s a great idea — you should begin immediately!” Which I did.
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To read the rest of this review — and more by Steve Schmolaris — visit his website Bad Gardening Advice.
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Steve Schmolaris is the founder of the Schmolaris Prize, “the most prestigious prize in all of Manitoba,” which he first awarded in 1977. Each year, he awards the prize to the best album of the year. He does not have a profession but, having come from money (his father, “the Millionaire of East Schmelkirk,” left him his fortune when he died in 1977), Steve is a patron of the arts. Inspired by the exquisite detail of a holotype, the collective intelligence of slime mold, the natural world and the suffering inherent within it — and also music (fuck, he loves music!) — Steve has long been writing reviews of Winnipeg artists’ songs and albums at his website Bad Gardening Advice, leading to the publication of a book of the same name.
